


kaleidoscope

by notswitzerland



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notswitzerland/pseuds/notswitzerland
Summary: "The hour was late, and the rest of the Mighty Nein were sleeping; outside their home, guards patrolled the city lazily, underhanded dealings occurred in back alleyways and ruined buildings, and the city quietly enjoyed a well-earned rest. Jester worked tirelessly to fuse her holy magic into gem dust and ink, and Caleb was stuck in the no man’s land between wide awake and dreamlike trance that exists when a world altering shift in perspective is about to occur."Jester gives Caleb a tattoo, and then some.





	kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title taken from Sleeping At Last's Turning Page. Disclaimer: I don't actually know how to give magic tattoos, sorry.

The hour was late, closer to morning than evening, and the interminably darkened skies of Rhosana pushed against the windows of Caleb’s room like a cat greeting its owner after a long absence. A series of candles burned brightly, casting everything with a soft warm glow, throwing flickering shadows against the walls. Papers and spell components were sprawled in organized chaos across the various mostly stable surfaces- a desk, bookshelves, chairs, a teetering stack of books- and a thick, navy blue quilt laid haphazardly off the end of his bed, one good kick away from abandoning the sheets completely and pooling itself on the floor.

The sounds of Rhosana at night echoed in the distance; the hum of insects, bird calls, the occasional _ crunch _ of one of the city’s nocturnal residents marching their way through the streets. Inside the room, silence was a tangible thing, broken only by the gentle _ scrape-tap _of Jester’s tattooist tools- a small, sharp, bony rake, and a hard, stained-and-sealed stick. The faint smell of ink mixed with the burnt marshmallow scent of Jester’s magic and her lavender perfume. Caleb, lashes lowered and pulse steady, reclined against the headboard of his bed, watching the steady push-and-pull of her hands working the ink beneath his skin, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her brow was smooth, eyes cast downward as she focused on the work at hand. She loomed over him, her sleeves rolled up and fingers stained with ink, dark skirts bunched around her, nearly sitting in his lap. He could barely feel the sting of the bony needles through the sensation of her breath fluttering across his naked chest. 

The hour was late, and the rest of the Mighty Nein were sleeping; outside their home, guards patrolled the city lazily, underhanded dealings occurred in back alleyways and ruined buildings, and the city quietly enjoyed a well-earned rest. Jester worked tirelessly to fuse her holy magic into gem dust and ink, and Caleb was stuck in the no man’s land between _ wide awake _ and _ dreamlike trance _ that exists when a world altering shift in perspective is about to occur. 

_Scrape, tap._

Jester had called it a Tattoo of Protection; he could practically hear the capitalized letters in her reverent tone. The words had hung in the air between them as soon as she said them, and while she’d worn a hopeful smile, her fists had been clenched around the tools in her grip, her stance determined, as if she expected him to fight her on her decision to bestow a magic, protective tattoo upon him. Part of him, the part that still whispered _what a disappointment, dear boy _and _your fault_ and **_vollstrecker _**had wanted to laugh; he was a murderer and a failure and a fucking selfishasshole_liar _and somehow_,_ _somehow _he’d fooled this intelligent, wise, _brilliant_ woman into thinking he deserved this, into thinking that he was a good enough person to deny himself this and say _ah, Jester, thank you, this is very kind of you, but I am _fine, _I do not need this, there are others in the party who would benefit more-_

The other part of him wanted to cry, because Jester had chosen _ him. _ Jester, with her aggressive love for others and her unwavering protective instinct and her _ favoritism _ and her understanding of the world that transcended such simple concepts as good and evil and _ deserving,_ Jester had chosen _ him- _ and the realization flooded him with _ joy _ and _ guilt _ and _ shame, _ and he’d found himself choking out _ “ah, Jester-” _

The look on her face went from hopeful to sad, but no less determined- and Caleb, never one to deny her anything, had given his assent.

_ Scrape, tap. _

Slow and steady, warm and tingling with pain and magic and _Jester_, black onyx and shining silver formed the outline of her Traveler’s Door above his heart- _less like leaving a mark_, his mind whispered, _more like revealing something that was there already. _Her hands worked deftly, confident, and he was reminded of all the other times he’d seen her leave the symbol- pamphlets decorating the Allhammer’s shrine in Zadash, a lifesize painting in a crystal cave under the Ashkeeper Peaks, a carving done without looking in the Bright Queen’s Cathedral. The symbol belonged to her as much as it did to the Traveler; it was a part of her, in her heart and mind and very soul. Everywhere she walked, everything she did, she left traces of herself, chaotic and determined and screaming that she was here, she existed and could not be ignored- graffitied on walls and doors, in the air, in the water, the ground she walked on- burned into the eyes of the people she met like a flashbang. Gods knew she’d been tattooed in his mind long before she’d ever learned the tattooist’s trade- and now, in the dark and comfortable silence of the early morning, in the intimate space of his bed, she was tattooing herself into the skin above his heart. 

_ Scrape, tap. _

Jester paused for a moment, leaning back and observing the arch, the road, and the rising sun with a satisfied, thoughtful expression. There was a purple flush to her cheeks, her eyes dark and glittering in the firelight. She glanced up to meet his gaze, searching- and whatever she was looking for, she must have found, because the gentlest, most quietly joyful smile he’d ever seen slowly overtook her face. He’d been unable to keep himself from matching it. He’d found he didn’t want to. 

They both had things to say; they both had fears to admit and wishes to share and confessions to make, but for now, they were both _ here _and there was no need to speak.

The hour was late, and as Jester shifted to apply more ink to the tiny needles of her bone rake, still smiling, Caleb found himself wanting to reach out and brush her dark hair out of her eyes. He wanted to trace the arch of her brow and the curve of her cheek and the shape of her mouth_,_ wanted to hold her and _thank her_ and tell her that _he loved her-_but Jester was doing her good work. He knew with a keen sense of certainty that there would be time enough for all that later, and so Caleb, pulse slow and breathing steady, allowed his gaze to leave her face and trace the tattoos she’d settled into his skin, and allowed his mind to wander.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a post on tumblr a week or so ago about Jester finally getting her gem dust and giving Caleb a magic, AC boosting tattoo. This is the result- a multichap monstrosity in which I spend more time describing Caleb's OTHER tattoos than the one that actually inspired the fic. Thanks for reading, guys.


End file.
